The Part That Hurts
by Greenstuff
Summary: my response to the season finale teasers and the sad!Marshall photo. Spoilers: Let's Get it Ahn, Once a Ponzi Time, season finale promo footage WARNING: Character Death


The Part That Hurts

He knew it was bad news by the way Stan said 'Hello' instead of 'Hi'.

"Mary's been shot."

He was wrong. This wasn't bad news, it was catastrophic.

He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't... anything.

"She's at Albuquerque Presbyterian. I'm on my way to pick you up now."

Marshall nodded, not knowing or caring that Stan couldn't see his response. The phone dropped from suddenly nerveless fingers, it hit the floor with a sharp crack, like gun shot.

True to his word, Stan pulled into Marshall's driveway a few minutes later. He didn't bother to knock.

Marshall hadn't moved. He stood with one hand on the kitchen counter, the other dangling at his side , a plate of leftovers on the counter before him, half out of the saran wrap. He did not look up when the Chief entered.

Stan sighed. Through his many years in the US Marshal Service he had seen many partnerships come and go, but he had never known two partners as close as these two. Mary strong on brawn but weak on control, Marshall, too controlled for his own good. They bled into one another, each feeding off the other's strength, together forming a single, perfect WITSEC agent. It was impossible to imagine one without the other. He refused to think about what might happen to Marshall if… no. She would get through this. She was a fighter. He had to believe she could pull through, if only for Marshall.

"Mary's a fighter. She'll get through this." Stan placed a comforting hand on Marshall's shoulder.

Blue eyes flicked up to meet brown. A world of pain wrapped in the most fragile veil of hope. "How bad is it?"

"I don't know." Stan lied smoothly, he didn't have the details exactly, but he had a fairly good idea. But visions of gaping chest wounds and funerals were not something Marshall needed, so Stan lied. "Come on, they'll be able to tell us more at the hospital."

Marshall retrieved his phone and followed Stan out the door.

They drove to the hospital in silence. Both men too consumed with worry to make small talk. Bobby D met them in the waiting room for the surgical wing. He attempted a smile for Marshall's benefit, but the concern in his eyes would not be masked.

"She's in surgery right now. The doctors will come when they have news."

"Her family?" Marshall asked.

"One of our officers is trying to track them down. They'll be brought here as soon as possible."

"Thank you." Tears threatened at the edge of Marshall's vision but he ruthlessly suppressed them.

"Don't worry," Bobby replied, "If anyone can get through this, it's Mary. I'm sure she'll be up yelling at us all for letting her get shot in no time."

Marshall tried to smile at this but his face was frozen.

Stan escorted Bobby to the door, leaving Marshall seated in the waiting room with his head cradled in his hands – an almost perfect mimic of Mary's posture when it had been Marshall with a bullet in his chest.

"We have Francesca in protective custody as requested," Bobby said softly, "and my guys caught two of the men involved in tonight's incident. We could use some help on the details however. Anything I need to know?"

Stan shook his head. "Not that I can think of."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "When have I heard that before?"

"You'll keep us updated?"

"Yep. You too?"

"Of course."

The detective returned to work and Stan took the chair next to Marshall. A silent, comforting presence.

It was an hour before the surgeon emerged with news on Mary's condition. Sometime between Bobby D's departure and the appearance of the surgeon, Mary's family had tumbled into the waiting room, blubbering and full of awkward questions.

Marshall refused to even look at them. He couldn't handle their grief. Not today. Not with his own heart being wrenched, still beating, inch by inch from his chest.

"Mrs. Shannon?"

Jinx lifted her head, "I'm Jinx Shannon."

The surgeon came to stand before the small huddle who cared about Mary. "Your daughter made it through the surgery. We had to remove a large portion of her liver and one of her kidney's. We will be monitoring her closely, but she isn't out of the woods yet. You should prepare –"

Marshall jolted to his feet, unable to listen for another second. Unable to even consider the fact that Mary might not make it, that the world could exist without her in it. There should be something, some rule of physics, that meant the world truly would stop turning on its axis if Mary Shannon his best friend, partner and the woman he loved with every fragment of his soul, ceased to be.

Marshall walked until he ran out of halls. He couldn't leave. No matter what happened, he would be here as long as she was. At long last he came to a dead-end hall with a large window at the end. He stood before the window, leaning against the sill with both arms and allowing his forehead to rest against the cool glass, and tried to focus on breathing through the pain in his chest.

He stayed like that, mind running in hopeless circles like a hamster in a wheel, until the sky outside darkened into night. No one approached him, even from a distance it was clear that he was a man in pain.

At eight forty-three his phone rang, its shrill tones slicing through the silence. He checked the caller ID, it wasn't a witness, and hit reject. He turned away from the window, now that it was dark he could see his own haunted face in the glass, and leaned his back against its hard cool surface. His eyes took in the usual chaos of a busy hospital floor, but his mind was elsewhere, hashing over the events of that evening.

Mary had dismissed him around four, insisting that she could take care of Francesca on her own and that _someone_ needed to check on their other witnesses. He'd agreed to go home for the night in part because she was right about their other witnesses and in part because being around her was just… difficult. Despite his common sense and every possible effort to do so, he could not break free of her hold on him. Not even her engagement or knowing she told Raph about WITSEC could generate enough anger to break the unspeakable bond that tied his happiness to hers.

Yet he had left her alone in a dangerous neighborhood with a witness who was incredibly brave but lacking in the self-preservation category. And now Mary was in the hospital, maybe dying.

He had failed her. As her partner, by leaving even when he should have known he was needed; as her best friend, by being unable to support her relationship with Raph; and as a man in love with a magnificent, impossible woman, by waiting until she was engaged to find the guts to confess his feelings. He had failed.

He'd told Brandi once that failure was a part of life, the part that makes us learn and the part that hurts, but he'd never thought he would fail Mary. It wasn't possible. He loved her. He would give up anything to make her happy, lay down his life to protect her from harm. It shouldn't be possible that something as petty as jealousy had sent him running when she needed him the most.

Stan's familiar form rounded the corner at the end of the hall. Even at this distance he could tell there was no good news. The Chief walked slowly, shoulders sloped. Marshall watched him, unblinking, his heart clenched by a cold fist of anxiety, his brain already scrambling to unhear whatever it was the Stan would say.

When he was only a few feet away, Stan slowly shook his head.

The world came crashing down. Marshall's knees gave out, he slid down the wall, one hand pressed to his face and sobbed as if he would never stop.

* * * One Month Later * * *

Marshall entered the Sunshine Building at exactly one o'clock, a thick folder tucked under his arm, a half empty, lukewarm cup of coffee in his left hand. He met Eleanor's "hello" with a smile that didn't make it past his lips and nodded a greeting to Stan, tossed the folder on his desk and sank wearily into his chair.

He had been back to work for one week, working solo, staying out of the office as much as possible. Today he would meet his new partner.

Thomas Waverly had been pulled from the Phoenix WITSEC office the day Mary was shot and assigned to Francesca until she could be relocated once again. He had taken over Mary's cases and dealt with any emergencies with Marshall's witnesses while Marshal attempted to drink himself into oblivion over a three week leave of absence.

At Stan's recommendation Marshall had been given a week to settle back into the WITSEC routine before meeting his new partner. Still, it felt too soon.

It was one seventeen when Thomas swiped his way in to the WITSEC office, a tray of coffee in his hands. He greeted Marshall with a handshake and passed on his condolences about Mary. Marshall was hard pressed to say thank you.

Thomas placed one of the coffee cups on the desk in front of Marshall. "A half caf, triple cappuccino, extra foam. I know we just met, but Eleanor said it was your favorite."

Marshall stared at the place where his new partner stood for several moments, but it was not Thomas Waverly he saw.

"What? Can't one co-worker treat another co-worker to a complicated coffee beverage?" The voice was so clear in his head he almost believed it was Mary standing before him, smart ass grin on her face, waiting for him to fish out the change to pay for the hot drink.

He took a deep, shaky breath and forced himself to smile, "Thank you."

Coffee had never tasted so bitter.


End file.
